


I'm Kinda Helpless (and I Need You)

by multiplelizards



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Witchers (The Witcher), Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 09:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28468716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multiplelizards/pseuds/multiplelizards
Summary: It's not anyone else's fault he fell in love with a witcher who decided he wants nothing to do with him. They're here to have fun. He can pretend to do that, for a little while.Jaskier, at a New Year's party, gets a terrifying call from a certain witcher.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 44
Kudos: 335





	I'm Kinda Helpless (and I Need You)

**Author's Note:**

> "Maybe I should write a New Year's fic. You know. Just a short one. Under 1k."
> 
> That's not how it worked out, but it _is_ done, so. Title from [Sing to Me by MISSIO.](https://youtu.be/xu3rO7xtf0c)

"Come on, Jask," Priscilla's saying, tugging him out of the kitchen and away from the alcohol table, "we brought you here to enjoy yourself, not drink yourself stupid. You could do that at home."

"This is only my fourth drink, Pri," he whines, spinning the mostly empty wine glass in his hands absently as Priscilla continues to lead him through the densely packed crowd to where Essi's chatting with..."Valdo," Jaskier hisses.

"Jaskier," Valdo returns, smile bright. Jaskier scowls harder and both Essi and Priscilla roll their eyes.

"Play nice, boys," Essi chastises before catching her girlfriend around the waist and reeling her in to press a kiss to her cheek.

"Just like college," Pri laughs, looping the arm not wound around Essi around Jaskier's neck and dragging him in with her. Valdo watches with an indulgent smile and Jaskier finds he doesn't even hate him, much. It's frustrating. 

He forces a smile and tries not to let his sour mood drag the rest of them down with him. It's not anyone else's fault he fell in love with a witcher who decided he wants nothing to do with him. They're here to have fun. He can pretend to do that, for a little while.

They chat for a little before Essi gets dragged off by another acquaintance, Priscilla following, and then it's just Jaskier and Valdo.

"Heard you've had a rough go of it, lately," Valdo says as they stand shoulder to shoulder, staring out across the room. Jaskier doesn't know most of the people here; a few years ago that would have been exciting, now he wishes he'd stayed home, just a little. He lifts his shoulder in a one-sided shrug, sips from his wine glass. There's no point lying to Valdo.

"I'm...sorry for that, Julian, truly. You deserve someone who loves you, who makes you happy." His fingers tighten on the stem of the glass.

"And who's that, hm? You?" He can't help but say, words sharp like a knife. Valdo winces.

"Once upon a time, maybe," he sighs. It's quiet for a beat, "I still want the best for you, though." Jaskier lets out a gust of breath. He may not love the man anymore, may have never loved him, really, but--

"I know," he says, bumps their shoulders together gently, "thank you, Valdo."

"Anytime, Julian." It's soft and subdued, private and just for them. "Come find me before the countdown, yeah? For...old time's sake." It sounds like a resounding bad idea, but...

"I'll think about it," Jaskier says softly.

Valdo makes a satisfied noise and bumps their shoulders together again, gently, before he's stepping away, "Well, better make the rounds. See you in a bit, maybe," and then he's gone too, leaving Jaskier standing at the edge of the party.

He stays there only a moment. It's...a lot. The press of bodies, people chatting, the low thrum of music. This kind of thing used to be his scene, where he thrived. Now he just...he just wants Geralt and that hurts, Geralt wanted him gone, said "if life could give me one blessing" and well. Jaskier's trying, he really is it's just...hard.

He slips out the back door and onto the terrace off the back of the house. It's just for some air, he tells himself, he's not...not running away. He just needs a minute to breathe.

From here he can see the street through the cute little metal gate, the pass of cars and the occasional pedestrian. It's a rich side of town, one he rarely visits any longer. He doesn't even know the host, a friend of Priscilla's, someone she works with. He feels out of place. This is a far cry from the dingy diners, the 24-hour gas stations he's used to frequenting at this point. Or well. Had frequented, he guesses. He hasn't been much of anywhere since...before.

He leans against the little railing and tugs out his phone to check the time and then just...stares. He hadn't been able to bring himself to change his lock screen yet, a photo of the two of them, squeezed into a booth at some little coffee shop whose name he can't remember. Jaskier's smiling, bright and electric and Geralt's...not, but his eyes are crinkled at the corners, just a little, and he looks...he looks...

His chest heaves a nearly sobbing breath as he lets the screen go dark. He's maybe had a few too many drinks, but he's not going to cry about it, about him. It doesn't matter how happy he looks in the photos on Jaskier's phone. Geralt doesn't want anything to do with him, not anymore.

He's still wallowing in self-pity when his phone rings, vibrating intensely in his hand. No caller ID pops up, but Jaskier answers anyway. It's just as likely to be Essi calling from someone else's phone because hers has died as it is to be Geralt calling from a new burner phone. Except--

"Jaskier?" 

His voice is rough and beautiful and tight with pain and Jaskier's heart stutters. His throat works, but no sound comes out.

"Jaskier, please, I--"

"Geralt," he forces out, his own voice hoarse. "Geralt, what--"

"Please," he continues, steamrolling right over Jaskier's quiet protest, "I need you to know I...fuck," it's a tiny noise of pain. Jaskier's chest clenches, "I'm sorry. You didn't deserve any of it." His voice is faint.

"Geralt, where are you, what's wrong?"

"I'm...fine." It's not reassuring.

"Geralt, where are you," he's starting to panic, a little, "I'll call Yen, I'm sure she'll--"

Geralt laughs, sharp and sardonic, a noise that cuts off quickly on a wheeze. "Yen's the last person I'd call, Jask." The diminutive does something painful to him. He can feel the tears slipping down his cheeks as he rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand, frustrated.

"Still. Where are you?"

"Do you remember that diner on third street?" Geralt asks, voice a little hazy, a little too soft as Jaskier pushes back through the house. He needs to find Essi or Pricilla, someone who can drive him--"the one where...ah...where you order the--the milkshakes?"

"I do," he says. He can't find his friends, but he catches Valdo's eye across the room and something in his expression must be especially concerning because Valdo's already bowing out of the conversation and making his way over.

"I'm...I left Roach there," he says just as Valdo approaches, mouths "what's wrong" at him.

"Okay, and where are you?" Jaskier asks, holding a single finger up to Valdo who nods.

"I--" a harsh, painful breath, "--was checking out the warehouse two streets over. Bruxa nest."

"Okay. Okay, just--Valdo, do you have your car?" Valdo blinks at him, a little wide-eyed. Geralt makes a strangled noise on the other end of the line.

"Jaskier, you've had too much to drive," he says, which means he does.

Jaskier makes an ungodly sound at the same time Geralt asks "Jask, where are you?"

"Will you drive me, then?" Valdo's had...maybe half a glass all night--he's still carrying around the rum and coke he had when they'd talked earlier, untouched.

Valdo gives him a hard look, and Jaskier thinks maybe he won't before, "Yeah. Let me grab my coat, I'll meet you out front in a minute."

"Thank you, Val," he says, nearly choking on the wave of emotion that hits him, the gratitude he feels for this man he used to love. "Geralt, we'll be there in a few minutes, okay?"

"Mm," the mumbled little response over the line isn't reassuring.

"How close to the warehouse are you still, love?" The endearment slips out without a thought, and Geralt sucks in a sharp breath. Jaskier winces hard.

"'M...down the street." He's quiet for a long moment where Jaskier worries he's passed out on him. "Sorry to ruin your night out."

"Geralt, you're not ruining anything for me." He shifts from foot to foot on the stoop out front, waiting for Valdo to emerge. "How bad is it?" Geralt's silent for too long. "Geralt?"

"Uh," Jaskier can tell from the tone he's making a face, "few busted ribs. I'm..." a soft sigh, "losing a lot of blood." His voice is faint, still.

"How much is a lot, Geralt?" Valdo steps out the door and ushers Jaskier over to his car.

"Where are we going?" he asks as he slips into the driver's seat, Jaskier already fumbling for his seatbelt.

"It's...I may not..."

"Geralt."

"It's not your fault, Jask." A feeling like ice washes through him.

"Are you out of swallow or what?" he asks, trying not to snap at him. Valdo's sitting patiently while he waits for directions, only the tapping of his fingers on the steering wheel giving away his nerves.

"It's...I didn't bring it." Jaskier makes another ugly noise.

"The diner on third street," he tells Valdo who nods and shifts the car into gear, backing up. "it is in your car, yes?" he asks Geralt.

"...Yeah," he breathes. Jaskier just listens to the slow rasp of Geralt's breathing, eyes closed. He doesn't ask why Geralt didn't bring any with him, doesn't want to hear the answer, probably. "It's not your fault," Geralt repeats softly, and Jaskier can't help the little hiccuping sob, even as he presses a fist to his mouth to stifle it. Valdo stares out of the corner of his eye but doesn't say anything, which he's thankful for.

"If you die, I'll never forgive you, witcher." Geralt gives a huff over the phone, something like a laugh. "Don't hang up, okay?"

"Okay," he says. They lapse into silence, Jaskier occasionally giving updates on where they're at in relation to the diner, Geralt making vague noises of acknowledgment. When they hit the parking lot of the diner, Jaskier's out the door before Valdo's even parked. Roach is a few stalls away and Jaskier jogs over, fumbling his spare key Geralt hadn't taken back out of his pocket and unlocking it diving into the passenger seat, phone still pressed to his ear.

"I'm with Roach, Geralt, we're maybe five minutes away, okay?" Geralt doesn't respond, and something tightens in Jaskier's chest. With shaking fingers he digs through the floorboard and finds the little pouch of potions tucked in next to the steel sword and his sharpening kit in the foot of the passenger seat. He pulls the whole little bag out and locks the car door before slamming it closed behind him, a little too hard.

He slides back into the passenger seat of Valdo's car a few moments later, the pouch in his lap.

"Where to?"

"Try Fletcher. He's down by the warehouses." Valdo nods and backs out of the stall again. "Geralt?"

There's a rough noise over the line, but no indication Geralt's conscious. Fuck.

They turn onto Fletcher and Valdo drives slowly. It's dark and most people are either at home or at New Year’s parties, not hanging around the industrial district, so it's easy to spot the figure slumped over against a brick wall, pale hair hiding his face.

"Valdo--" he starts, but he's already seen him, and he hits the breaks. Jaskier's out of the car like a shot, potion bag tucked under his arm. He nearly trips over the sidewalk, barely catching himself at the last moment as he stumbles to a stop, hitting his knees beside Geralt hard.

"Geralt, love," he breathes, but it doesn't matter that his heart is pouring out his mouth--Geralt's out cold, phone cradled in his lap but not hung up, just like Jaskier asked. "Fuck."

He can see he's torn up--there's blood all over his armor and pooling on the sidewalk beneath him. He's got a hand pressed loosely over his side and his breathing's shallow. Jaskier fumbles a bottle of swallow out of the pouch and uncorks it.

"Please don't be too late," he whispers, careful fingers tipping Geralt's head up and coaxing his jaw open so he can pour the contents down his throat. Geralt sputters, but swallows, throat working, and Jaskier sits nearly in his lap, face cradled in his hands and fingers brushing his pulse point. Slowly, Jaskier watches as the wound on his side clots and knits together, feels the way his pulse, slow as always, strengthens ever so slightly, and Jaskier sighs, tips forward to press his forehead to Geralt's bloody shoulder as the adrenaline leaves him all at once. He'll be fine.

He sits there for a long moment, just letting the panic fizzle out. The footsteps behind him tell him Valdo's finally parked the car.

"Is he--"

"He'll be fine," Jaskier says, pulling back to stare at Geralt's prone form. His breathing is strengthening, the ribs beginning to knit back together now that the source of the blood loss has been dealt with. "Thank you, Val."

"Should we, uh, move him or something?" Valdo asks, the same moment Geralt groans and blinks open his eyes. "Oh, I'll...um. I'll wait in the car if...if you need me." He ducks his head and retreats to where he parked on the sidewalk a few paces away, giving them some privacy.

"You're here." Geralt's voice, usually gravel rough, is somehow deeper, more jagged, with the remnants of the potion.

"Did you think I wouldn't be?" Jaskier asks. He realizes he's still kneeling over Geralt, palms cupping his jaw and throat. Geralt's eyes flutter closed again, tired.

"I don't deserve it."

Jaskier's chest aches, sharp and painful. "Maybe not," he whispers, "but here I am." Geralt's breath stutters and he rotates out of Jaskier's grip to cough, a deep, rattling sound that makes Jaskier wince.

"I'm sorry I ruined your date," Geralt grinds out when his breathing settles, collapsing back against the wall again. Jaskier frowns.

"Why would I--?"

Geralt doesn't let him finish, "He looks...good. For you. I'm. I hope he makes you happy, Jask." Geralt's expression is guarded and it's...that's not...

"Geralt," Jaskier says slowly, "That's Valdo Marx. We're not dating. You did not interrupt a date. I was at a party."

"You're not...?" he starts, brows pinched, and Jaskier wants to hit something.

"Geralt. I'm--I'm not dating anyone. I. I can't." _No one could ever make me as happy as you_ , he thinks but doesn't say.

Geralt makes a soft, unhappy sound, "Why?" At some point, his hands have landed on Jaskier's waist. Now he rubs gentle thumbs against the swell of Jaskier's hip bones in a movement that is more distracting than it has any right to be.

"Because I love you, you dolt," Jaskier chokes out, unable to hold down the swell of emotion at the confusion on Geralt's face, "and I know you said you didn't want to see me again and I--"

"Jask," Geralt stops him, a hand rising to cup his cheek, "you shouldn't."

"I know. _I know_ , and I do anyway and I. I'm sorry, but--"

"I shouldn't have pushed you away," Geralt says, eyes bright with something Jaskier can't name. There's a thundering sound of cheers, distant this deep into the industrial part of the city. Midnight. New Years. "I love you, Jask, I'm sorry."

He tips forward to kiss him, and Geralt surges up to meet him, hands tangling in his hair. It's like breathing fresh air for the first time in years, like the first trip out of the city looking for a forktail, like every time Jaskier's patched him up, every time they've gotten coffee together at three am, every time Geralt's bought him a meal at a diner after midnight. The kiss breaks, but they don't move away, foreheads pressed together.

"I'm sorry," Geralt repeats, eyes closed.

"So am I," Jaskier whispers back, "I've been a right bastard myself, on occasion.” Geralt huffs a laugh, something soft and intimate. Jaskier cards his fingers through his hair, gentle.

"Stay with me?" He asks, and that's--

"Yeah," Jaskier says, presses another kiss to his mouth, slow and sweet, "let me go tell Valdo I'm walking you to your car and he can go. Then you can take me home and we'll crash at my place, okay?"

"Okay," Geralt breathes, reluctantly letting go so Jaskier can stand. He stares at him a moment, bloody and bruised and so very, very beautiful, and then he's pulling himself away, back to Valdo and his car.

"He's okay?" Valdo asks, rolling his window down when Jaskier gets close.

"Yeah, I'm--"

"Are you okay?" he continues, gaze intense and--

"Yeah," he sighs, "yeah, we're okay. I'm. He makes me happy, Val." Valdo's expression softens, something relieved in his eyes.

"Good. I'm glad, Julian. Does he need a ride back to his car?" Jaskier turns to follow Valdo's gaze, sees how Geralt fidgets at the edge of the sidewalk, impatient.

"No. We'll walk back. Thanks for the ride. I'm. Really very thankful."

"I know." His smile is radiant. "Don't be a stranger, Julian." Jaskier makes a face, which only makes Valdo smile wider. "See you around."

The car pulls away when Jaskier steps back onto the sidewalk. Geralt winds his arms around Jaskier's waist when he gets close enough, pulls him into another slow, thorough kiss that sets his nerves alight. They break reluctantly, Jaskier's hand on Geralt's face.

"Come on, love, let’s get you home."

It's been weeks since Jaskier's been this close to Geralt, weeks since they talked, since they touched.

"You're here," Geralt rumbles, a quiet sound, "I'm already home." And that's--Jaskier has to clear his throat not to cry.

"Happy New Year, Geralt." Geralt’s expression is soft, fond as they start the walk back to Roach. He slips his hand into Jaskier's, threads their fingers together and brings the back of his hand to his lips in a gentle kiss.

"Yes," he says, "it is."

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [tumblr.](https://writinglizards.tumblr.com/)


End file.
